


One Owl

by Whiterabbit11



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Draco, Bottom Draco Malfoy, But not that dark, Dark Harry, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Fluff, Draco/Harry - Freeform, Drarry, Fluff, Harry/Draco - Freeform, I promise, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Top Harry, Top Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-07 04:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14663504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whiterabbit11/pseuds/Whiterabbit11
Summary: Draco is arrested and given one owl message to send for help. The Aurors assume he will send for a corrupt lawyer. He sends for Harry Potter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone! I have no idea where this one is going. I'm trying to make it dark but you know me... I can't bear to make them suffer tbh.

With shaking hands, Draco reached for the quill. He could hear the Aurors behind him laughing snidely. They expected him to use his one owl to contact a lawyer, some corrupt and expensive stuffed shirt worthy of the Malfoys. But the old Malfoy lawyers had all been brought to heel in this post-Voldemort world, and none of Draco’s old guard would be able to help him. Draco sniffed. It was bloody cold down here, though he was sure the Aurors planned to warm him up via a harsh beating as soon as there was no chance of him bleeding on the parchment.

He had been using Blaise Zabini for his legal work of late, what little there was, and Blaise had been able to keep a small London townhouse for Narcissa. The rest of their English properties were seized as ‘reparations’, and Draco hadn’t been foolish enough to clarify that this still left the Malfoys very, very rich. He and Narcissa had kept their heads down for the last five years, living simply and quietly in their little home while they waited for Draco’s five-year travel ban to end. But they had plenty of property elsewhere on the continent, and Muggle holdings too. Lucius wasn’t so far gone as all that, by the end. He knew Azkaban was coming and that he would likely not survive it. Under the Dark Lord’s very nose, he and Draco squirreled away the vast Malfoy fortunes into Muggle banks. Once this was all over, Draco thought bracingly, he and Mother would quietly take their leave of England. Their Greek island remained untouched, their vineyards in France, that charming chateau in Switzerland. However, he would never see any of it if he didn’t survive the next twenty-four hours with his captors. The Aurors had been investigating dark wizard activity in London, and decided to sweep Draco into their search on no evidence at all. But evidence, and whatever Blaise could do for him, would take time. They would have beaten him senseless by then, and worse too, judging by the leering and sexual comments from some of them.

At twenty-three, Draco was prettier than he had ever been. Quiet living agreed with him, as well as the routine of his humble job as a clerk in the ministry. He had no doubt that his rehabilitation back into society was partly because of his elegant good looks, even if the larger part of it was due to Harry Potter. Potter spoke for him at the trials, raining fire and brimstone on the Wizengamot who wanted to put away a boy of eighteen for life. Potter wouldn’t stand to see Draco spend a single day in Azkaban, and his rage that day had shaken the very bedrock of that subterranean room. With plaster flaking off the walls, the Wizengamot hadn’t felt Draco was important enough to risk angering the powerful young wizard. They had thought Potter would have something to say for everyone, but after he spoke for Draco and Narcissa, Potter simply left. They sentenced Lucius to life imprisonment. When he eventually sickened and died in Azkaban a year later, his body was transferred back to the Malfoys for a quiet burial. Potter came to the funeral, carrying a bouquet of lilies for Narcissa, and one of white roses for Draco. He had informed Draco that there was a job for him as a clerk in the ministry legal department. Draco arrived to his post a week later to find himself working for Hermione Granger. He said not a word, but put his head down and worked hard. Three years later he and Granger were not friends, but he knew she appreciated his intelligence and work ethic, and she was kind enough not to treat him as badly as she had a right to. In turn, he lent his discretion to the numerous peccadillos that she quietly covered up for Potter.

Potter’s time in the Auror corps was punctuated by violence and anger, and his customary disregard for rules. Several dark wizards met their end at Potter’s hand – if not in actual death, then certainly in being permanently incapacitated. When he learned to drain magic out of wizards, leaving them no better than squibs, Hermione and Ron had stepped in and forced Potter to leave the Aurors. They said that continually putting himself in danger was making it even harder for Potter to leave the war behind. Draco could have told them that years earlier, when he had watched Potter cow the entire Wizengamot on nothing more than the strength of his word and power. Still, no one had asked him then, and no one asked him now. Leaving Potter without anything to do wouldn’t work either, he knew that, but they were only now realising it. Potter threw himself into partying, sleeping around, drinking and drugging around the clock, and generally doing his best to destroy himself. Hermione would arrive to work with dark circles under her eyes, and there would be blind items in the papers that even Draco’s contacts and Slytherin wiles could not silence.

The last episode had been only days previous, and Draco sincerely hoped Potter was conscious and lucid, for he was Draco’s only chance of getting out of this hellhole with his virtue intact. He dipped the cheap quill into watery ink and began to write.

“Potter,

I regret to inform you that your old colleagues in the Auror department have detained me in the ministry holding cells for suspected Dark activity. You and I both know the likelihood of my actually participating in Dark rituals under Granger’s nose and getting away with it is extremely unlikely. Moreover I spent this past weekend babysitting your godson, Edward. Mother and Aunt Andromeda are on a spa weekend in Bath. The Aurors broke down Aunt Andromeda’s wards and I was barely able to push Teddy through the Floo to Molly Weasley before they dragged me away. He was terrified but I am confident he is at least safe. The same cannot be said for myself. There is no passage to Azkaban on Sunday nights but I am assured of my trip there tomorrow morning. I am also assured of a thorough beating and more, judging by how free Auror Pendleton has been with fondling my person.

Potter, please, I implore your help.

Draco Malfoy”

Draco looked over his letter and wondered whether he had laid it on too thick? But then, it was nothing more than the truth. Teddy had been entrusted to him because Andromeda felt that Potter was too erratic these days, and indeed Potter showed no sign of even knowing she had left town. Draco and Teddy had had a lovely weekend, including a trip to Hamleys in Muggle London. Draco had just got his young cousin into a brand-new dragon onesie, ready for bed, when he felt the Aurors breaking down the wards on Andromeda’s home. He immediately Flooed Molly Weasley and tossed the wailing child through. That was all he had time for, before the Auror wards clamped around the house and he was trapped.

Draco tied his letter to the leg of the ancient, sleepy owl which had been provided to him. He honestly didn’t know if the beast would be able to carry the letter out of the door let alone across London to Mayfair. He quickly winkled a lozenge out of his pocket, a sort of Pepper-Up sweetie of his own devising that he used on days when nightmares of the war had kept him awake at night. The owl perked up at the proffered treat and greedily gobbled it down before the Aurors noticed. In seconds the little bird was puffing his feathers and generally acting like a chirpy young owlet. He zoomed out of the door at great speed and Draco hoped the potion would keep him going until he reached Potter. Draco slipped a lozenge into his own mouth for good measure, and turned to face Pendleton leering over him. In moments he had been dragged to a back cell, and he curled into himself and prepared to be beaten.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very short one!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read and commented/gave kudos! I'm so overwhelmed by your kindness and hope this story will go somewhere good for all of us!

Draco blearily opened his eyes. He was cold everywhere, except where pain bloomed hot. He was laying on a freezing stone floor, which perversely gave a little comfort to the many bruises across his legs and back. His ribs had a stabbing, panicky sort of pain which suggested breaks in the delicate bones. There was blood under his head and face, and Draco fuzzily thought that the blows to his head were probably saving his conscious mind from the worst of the pain. He felt the tremors begin in his legs and mentally cursed. He had missed his last two doses of potion for the nerve damage caused by the Cruciatus Curse. His aunt and the Dark Lord were free with torture, and indeed Aunt Bella had refined her use of the curse even further in her time at Malfoy Manor. Draco was now on a strict regime of potions that he had created himself, which kept the worst of the damage at bay so he could at least work and function. Thanks to his imprisonment he could now look forward to uncontrollable trembling in his legs and fingers, making him even more vulnerable to the whims of the Aurors. He was still dressed, more or less, so he did not think they had got so far as to molest him yet.

Draco closed his eyes and focused as hard as he was able to on the memory of green eyes. “Please, please,” he thought, unashamed in his weakened state. “Please, Potter, you’ve seen me in every awful moment I’ve ever had. Don’t fail me now.”

Draco felt consciousness slipping away again, but through the ringing in his ears, he suddenly heard shouting. The walls and floor were trembling slightly, as if something of great power were shaking them from afar. Through fluttering, unfocused eyes, Draco was aware of the door to his cell being taken off the hinges. The movement was blessedly quiet and careful, in contrast to the urgent feeling of a gathering storm in the area. The door was set aside almost silently, and a shadow moved through quickly. There was muffled shouting outside the cell, but Draco couldn’t move his head to see what it might be. The shadow resolved into the figure of a man, and a soft, deep voice spoke in Draco’s ear, telling him he was safe, telling him not to worry. Draco’s body was lightened with a spell and picked up carefully, so carefully, in warm, strong arms. The arms faltered slightly when they felt his trembling, weak legs, but then he was gathered up snugly to a warm chest. He briefly registered a heartbeat thumping strong and sure beneath his ear. Draco breathed as deeply as he could, let Potter’s reassuring scent fill his nose, and blacked out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the rescue...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented and kudosed so far, I really appreciate it! I'm still writing as I go but I seem to have RSI or a sprain in my hand/wrist and need to rest it over the weekend! So updates might become more spaced out after this!

Draco spent the next couple of hours drifting in and out of consciousness. He was carried out of the Ministry in Potter’s arms, and through the Floo to somewhere quiet. He was laid upon a soft bed and a Healer came, her voice soothing while she cataloged his injuries and healed them. Every time she found a broken bone, the furniture in the room rattled. When she realised that the trembling in his legs and hands was systemic and unrelated to the beating, Potter stormed out of the room. Draco vaguely heard the voices of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, pleading with Potter to calm down. Draco had to use all his limited faculties to refuse the Ministry-approved potion for nerve damage that the Healer was trying to foist on him. He suspected she intended to administer it anyway when he passed out again, but Potter returned and stood up for him. He told the Healer – Potter called her Audrey – that Draco worked with Hermione every day and this was the first time anyone had realised Draco had Cruciatus damage. Therefore he must have other ways of dealing with it. Draco nodded gratefully. The feeling of bones mending and bruises receding was familiar but exhausting, and the bed smelled like Potter. Draco nuzzled into the pillow shamelessly, and slept.  

More voices woke him, and Draco realised his mother and Aunt Andromeda had arrived. Narcissa sailed into the room with more confidence than she evidently felt, for when she saw him she uttered a cry and came to him with shaking hands of her own. Andromeda came up behind her, carrying Draco’s little valise of potions. He looked at her gratefully. Together the two women sat him up, and with a little direction from him, were able to administer the correct doses of potions. The Healer had returned and looked on curiously, her eyes rounding in amazement as the trembling in Draco’s hands visibly receded and his legs straightened from their tortured spasms. “The effect won’t last as long this time,” Draco told her. “It will take a few days before my body will recover from the missed doses.” Healer Weasley – Draco now recognised her as being married to Percy Weasley – asked him who had created and produced the potions. Draco told her he had done so himself, while he was under house arrest and unable to find a Healer who would see him. Even Granger looked impressed at this, from her place peeking around the door. No one else had created a potion which truly mitigated the long-term effects of Cruciatus, although perhaps none had possessed a truly great potioneer as a godfather. Draco had used Severus Snape’s own notes as the starting point for his trials, and had experimented on himself.

Draco asked Granger where his rescuer was. Potter had been present ever since carrying Draco out of prison, but was curiously missing now. Hermione pulled on her curls and her dark skin flushed a little deeper. “Ron’s with him,” she said evasively. Draco just looked at her intently, head cocked to the side a little, just the way he did at work when he was waiting for her to explain the details of how, exactly, Potter had fucked up. She sighed. “Harry had an awful fight to get you here, Draco,” she said. “He went against Kingsley’s direct orders to wait till Monday morning. He broke down the wards and doors to the holding cells, and attacked the Aurors who were holding you.” Hermione bit her lip. “He tied them up,” she told the room at large. “With some sort of metal tentacles he conjured out of nowhere. He’s gagged them and left them in their own cells, and for some reason one of them is naked. No one has been able to break the spell and free them.” “Let them wait till Monday morning,” snipped Draco spitefully, and to his surprise Hermione’s lips quirked. “Yes, I rather think that’s when the spell will wear off. But Harry is in trouble with Kingsley nonetheless. I know,” she forestalled Draco’s comment with a raised hand. “He’s been in plenty of trouble in the past and got away with it, but the Ministry as a whole and Kingsley in particular are getting pretty fed up of the way Harry just does whatever he pleases.” This last was delivered with a fretful frown but Draco just rolled his eyes. “Potter has a right to do what he pleases,” he murmured.

“Finally, someone who talks sense around here!” Potter swung around Hermione and came into the room. “How’s the patient?” he asked Healer Weasley, while looking Draco over keenly. “Much better than the last thirty-five times you asked me,” said the Healer waspishly. She was quietly running through Draco’s diagnostics. “This potion of yours is a marvel, Malfoy, why aren’t they using it at Mungos? This could help so many people who are still suffering since the war.” Draco smiled thinly. “I have not been able to get a single person from Mungos or the Ministry to meet with me on this matter,” he informed her. “Not even since I started working at the Ministry itself. They simply don’t trust me or any potion I may have invented, so that’s that.” He shrugged, a movement which jostled his still healing ribs and caused him to gasp and cough painfully. Potter was by his side even before Narcissa, cradling his shoulders and easing him back to lie down. “You should rest now,” he told Draco firmly. “How soon can we move him back home?” asked Narcissa anxiously, but before the Healer could answer, Potter announced, “He won’t be leaving.” Every eye in the room snapped to Potter incredulously, but Draco was already murmuring, “They’ll only drag me back if I go home. I’m safe here.” Potter looked smug, before Draco closed his eyes and feigned exhausted sleep. Slowly the room emptied until, Draco thought, only Potter and another remained. He opened his eyes a tiny bit when Ron Weasley spoke quietly, admonishing Potter that the Ministry would bring all it’s might to bear on him in the morning, just a few short hours away. Potter snorted inelegantly, running his hands through his unkept black curls and making them even more disarrayed. “Let them try to get him,” he snarled. “We’re under every ward I could find in the Black books. They had no right to lock up an innocent man, and no right to withhold his medication, and no right to beat him or feel him up either. I know what Pendleton is like, I worked with him enough to know Draco is his type.” “Blonde?” asked Weasley with a grimace. “Pretty and hurting,” said Potter lowly. Draco was still pretending to be asleep so he missed the expression on Weasley’s face, but his voice was very odd when he said, “Not just Pendleton’s type, yah?” before heading out of the door. There was a sound of Potter settling himself into a chair beside the bed, and then Draco really had to let well-earned sleep claim him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just who is rescuing whom?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for the well wishes! My hand/wrist is still not quite 100% but much better than it was!

Draco walked sharply along a side street near Knockturn Alley. This street didn’t even deserve a name, strewn with refuse and dingy as it was. Hags and other creatures of the night turned away from Draco’s upright posture and confident step. His well-tailored clothing was nothing like the luxury he was used to as a child, but still much too nice for this area. He shone like a Snitch in the gloom. 

Draco gingerly skirted more rubbish, and distracted himself with thoughts of all that had transpired lately. Potter had raised hell over Draco’s treatment at the hands of the Aurors, and they were now undergoing a thorough investigation by Hermione’s own department. So far, it was not going well. Draco had been put on leave so as not to jeapordise proceedings but Hermione was keeping him appraised nearly daily anyway. Another thing he had asked her to do was to check on who had gained rights over the previously Malfoy-owned properties in England. They were allegedly seized by the Ministry in war reparations, but far from reparations to the general public being made, Hermione had found several Ministry fat cats had seized the properties for their own use. Draco smiled grimly to himself, and held his breath. He comforted himself on this vile walk by remembering how he himself had furnished her with a list of exactly whom to look at. The Malfoys were down and out in society now, and every single social climbing politician who was living in Draco’s former holdings had made sure he knew about it. Draco had done nothing, said nothing, but had waited patiently for the time that he would have the ear of someone like Hermione. Now she turned her gimlet gaze upon the highest levels of the Ministry, who were so busy scrabbling for their innocence in the press that they had no time left over to help the Aurors cover their tracks. Less pleasingly, Hermione was now in danger from within and without the Ministry. The public was livid with every new revelation of political chicanery and many disgruntled politicians had to give up their plush, stolen homes, and often their cushy Ministry positions too. Hermione now went everywhere with a loyal bodyguard made up only of various Weasleys.

Which put Draco on Potter-duty.

Draco sighed and looked for the peeling, fetid doorway which led to the worst drinking establishment in wizarding London. Draco was not as kind as Hermione and he had a lot of time on his hands. He had magically tracked Harry at every pub in town as soon as the other entered, and presumably the other man had resorted to this place because he thought Draco wouldn’t deign to come there. But Draco knew which side his bread was buttered on, and it had a distinctly Granger-ish flavour. He waved aside the wards covering the entrance and slid inside quietly. The dingy room smelled only marginally better than the alleyway outside, and Draco curled his lip in disgust. He didn’t know what the bloody hell was wrong with Potter, really. For the days following his rescue of Draco, he was almost cheerful. He stayed sober. He kept to the cavernous, empty rooms of Grimmauld Place while Draco recuperated, fetching and carrying for the invalid, chatting civilly with those people he allowed in, and chasing off the Ministry when they tried to intrude. Draco thought Potter had rather enjoyed the excuse to use his magical strength. He himself had definitely enjoyed watching Potter hex the Aurors who had come to threaten them, as they hovered in the square outside Grimmauld Place just as Death Eaters had once done. Potter was creative too, starting with simple things like ever-filling bladders or really vile stomach upsets. When they learned the counter-charms to those, Potter moved onto proper defensive spells that really showed his strength. While the outside of the house bristled with impenetrable charms and curses, inside all was warm and cosy. Once Draco was well enough to come downstairs Potter had even cooked for him, and for a little while it was … nice. When Teddy came for a sleepover with his favourite cousin and godfather, Draco got a wistful glimpse of a domestic, gentle life that he hadn’t thought he would ever experience. Potter visibly melted when confronted with a freshly-bathed Teddy in his muggle dragon onesie, hair Malfoy-blonde and nose very pointy, and really Draco had quite a battle to get the little dragon into bed as his godfather kept asking for one more story.

But then Draco was healed and fit to return to real life. Blaise and Hermione had worked together through proper channels to ensure that Draco would not go to Azkaban. Narcissa was fretting to have her beloved son home again. So Draco had packed up those of his belongings that had migrated to Potter’s home, and went to say goodbye to his host. He found Potter in a towering temper. They had fought, really quite as nastily as they ever had at school. Wands were drawn and cutting, foolish things were said. All the closeness and companionship of the last days were gone, and Draco ended up storming away. Since then they had barely said two words to each other, and always only when Draco came to drag Potter’s firewhiskey-sodden carcass home from a horrible pub, club, or on one memorable occasion, a brothel. Draco counted his blessings as he tried not to touch anything in the fetid atmosphere. Definitely not a brothel, this one, though he was sure that could be arranged if the patrons wished. He sincerely hoped Potter hadn’t wished, today. He had been disturbed enough when he realised that the various men and women in Potter’s party at the brothel had been blonde, and even more disturbed that Weasley-R had not been even slightly surprised when Draco diffidently mentioned it. In fact, Weasley had rolled his eyes at Draco and said, ‘Well, that’s hardly surprising now is it,’ which Draco had been mulling over ever since.

Draco tried to get his head in the game and looked around. Several drunken forms could be made out in the gloom, but no Potter. There was no upstairs, so he had to be in this room somewhere. Draco groaned inwardly and decided he had had enough. Potter’s defensive magic was excellent and it sometimes took Draco hours to break through and find the bugger, even when he was stinking drunk or drugged. Today, Draco took a more direct approach. He swept his long overcoat off, and put a swing in his hips as he sidled to the bar. Heads turned all over the room. Draco slid onto a filthy barstool with only the slightest wince for the state of his tailored trousers. He even pouted a little for effect, and before he could call for the bartender’s attention, he felt a hulking presence by his elbow. He physically had to close his eyes as the breath of a gross ruffian met his sensitive nose, but he tried gamely to smile as he was asked what a pretty boy like him was doing in a place like this, eh? He even managed a soft blush as he said he just wanted a drink and no trouble. He felt a meaty hand close around his waist and felt sick. Draco started a countdown from ten in his head, even as he wriggled in a way that probably looked coquettish but was really his skin trying to get away from the other man. He had reached six when his would-be seducer suddenly went slack-jawed and cross-eyed. Draco dispassionately thought that it improved his appearance somewhat, as the huge man collapsed in a heap on the floor. He spun on the stool and simultaneously crossed his arms and legs. He made his glare as sharp and menacing as possible as he stared into the whiskey-glazed eyes of Harry Potter. “Potter,” he purred. “How nice of you to join us. Come here often, do you?” Draco’s tone of voice was calculated to be as annoying as possible. Indeed, he had practiced it. But Potter didn’t rise to the bait as he always did. His eyes were glued to Draco’s long legs, and he licked his lips in a very obvious way. “Don’t know if I want to punch you or shag you,” he slurred at Draco. When the blonde just huffed, Potter met his flinty silver eyes for a bare moment before his own legs started to give way. In a flash Draco was there to pull Potter’s arm over his own shoulders, and he started to hustle him out of the pub.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations and Feelings all around!

“How come I don’t get the pretty eyes and blushing?” whined Potter, as Draco manhandled him onto the threadbare sofa in Grimmauld Place. Draco was surprised Potter had never locked him out of his wards, but it was useful for getting the other man home. At least he hadn’t thrown up from being Apparated this time. Draco sighed and tried to reign in his temper, while slapping away Potter’s wandering paws. He always became very cuddly when he was drunk, but tonight was veering on the side of handsy. “I’ll get you some tea and the hangover potion,’ Draco told him flatly, but wasn’t able to take more than a step away when he found a Saviour-sized octopus holding him back. Potter had his arms tightly wrapped around Draco’s waist and was whining for attention. With another sigh, Draco stepped back and allowed Potter to pull him down to the sofa. He was subjected to a thorough cuddling, with Potter arranging the blonde’s long limbs so Draco was draped across his lap and Potter could snuggle right into his neck. Draco quickly waved his wand in a sharp cleaning spell that made Potter whine again, but as the stench of cheap alcohol receded Draco allowed himself to relax. He didn’t want to question himself too deeply as to why he was allowing this. It was warm and safe and Potter smelled nice. Weren’t even ex-Death Eaters’ allowed a few moments of peace? Potter likely wouldn’t remember this. Draco even dared to run his fingers through tangled, rough black curls, and Potter practically purred.

“You’ve never asked for them, you know,” murmured Draco absently, as he worked on untangling a particularly rough patch of hair. “Asked for what?” asked Potter blearily. “The, ah, eyes and blushing,” said Draco sheepishly. Potter snorted a laugh right into Draco’s neck, which peculiar sensation earned him a harsh tug to his hair. Potter merely gave a little moan and pushed right back in. “Most people don’t do those on command,” he told Draco, causing the blonde to scoff. “I haven’t blushed for real since I was six. No self-respecting Slytherin would,” he told Potter firmly, and felt the other’s smile grow against his neck. “I’ve made you blush before,” Potter said dreamily, “When you came to thank me for getting you out of Azkaban – the first time.” “Well, I just tried to shake your hand! And you kept holding on! It was very rude, Potter,” Draco admonished. Potter was still smiling but held Draco more tightly. “And then you ran away,” he complained in reply, “Before I could kiss you.” Draco stilled. This gentle flirtation was all well and good but they were heading into dangerous territory now, and Potter was still very drunk. “Let me get you your potion,” he coaxed, but Potter held even tighter. “You’re always trying to run away from me,” he whined. “I thought we had something good when you were staying here, we got along so well, it was so nice, and Teddy stayed with us, and I made you your favourite dinners, and then you left!” After this short speech, Potter belligerently burrowed tighter into Draco’s neck. “What else is left for me, eh? Drinking and dicking around with people who only want me for my money or my magic.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Poor little rich boy,” he sneered, and ignored Potter’s snort of disbelief. “That’s rich coming from you, little lord Malfoy!” he snarked, and loosened his hold enough for Draco to reach his wand. Potter stayed quiet while Draco summoned the extra-strength hangover potion that was his own invention. He usually dosed a cup of tea with it for Potter, but as the other man wouldn’t let him go, he would have to drink it neat. “Two gulps,” he instructed. He watched thoughtfully as Potter drank, then carefully stoppered the vial again. “Potter,” he began, as he was reluctantly released and was able to stand again. “Potter… the floozies you’ve been partying with don’t care about your magic, just your money. Who’s been trying to use your magic?” Potter flushed red under his tan skin, and green eyes skittered away from meeting Draco’s gaze. He looked hangdog guilty. “Potter,” said Draco with all the authority he could muster. “What the fuck have you done now? Does Granger know about this?” Potter rubbed a hand over his face, obviously sobering up very suddenly under the influence of the potion and Draco’s questioning. “You know, she’s not Granger anymore,” he said evasively. “They’ve been married two years now.” “So what? There are plenty of Mrs Weasleys, but there’s only one Granger!”

“I heard that!” came Hermione’s voice from outside the room, making both men jump. She waddled through quickly, dusting Floo powder off her stomach. “I knew you cared about me more than you let on, Draco Malfoy,” she teased as she settled herself into an armchair with a sigh. Potter quickly got a footstool for her feet and she raised them up with a grateful nod. “I gave Bill the slip, but I expect he’ll be here soon enough,” she warned. “So, what’s going on, friends?” she asked, emphasising the ‘S’ sound. Draco eyed her sourly. “Well, as your friend I should tell you, you’re getting fat.” “You know I’m pregnant, you arse,” she shot back. “That’s why Ron’s being so horribly over-protective.” “You should have picked Weasley-C, he’s better looking,” sniffed Draco, and ducked the stinging hex that came his way with an airy “Think of the children!” He then turned a beady eye on Potter, who was grinning and watching the proceedings. This reminded the other man that he had drunkenly given away just a little too much, and he flushed and hid his eyes again. “Oh oh,” said Hermione immediately, and Potter flinched miserably. “Harry, what have you done now?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this one guys!

A lot of shouting later, Draco paced up and down in Potter’s gloomy parlour. Weasley-B had come and gone, having been scolded and relieved by Weasley-R. The latter was currently rubbing his wife’s feet, which seemed really gross to Draco from either end of the deal, but he appreciated that Ron was probably keeping Granger’s temper and blood pressure in check. He swept a hand over his face. He needed a drink but knew if he suggested it, Potter would want one too. And that idiot had clearly been doing enough drinking lately. He decided to err on the side of caution and called upon his personal Malfoy elf, Binky, to provide them all with tea. They waited quietly until she returned with a full tea service, sandwiches and cakes. Despite the late hour they tucked in quietly, all three men deferring to whatever Granger wanted to eat most and mopping up the remaining food. Feeling marginally more refreshed, Draco focused on Potter.

“So let me get this straight,” he said with a deep sigh. Potter looked mulish. “There has actually been dark wizard activity in London. Those idiot Aurors were right, and there is actually a plot afoot to raise another dark lord. And the dark lord who is being raised is… you, Harry Potter. Is that correct?” Potter winced. “Well when you put it like that it sounds bad.” “I nearly got dragged to Azkaban, you utter moron!” shrieked Draco, then ran his hands through his hair in a self-soothing gesture. He felt a little better when Potter yelped and glared at Hermione. She was pretty mean with the stinging hexes. Weasley looked to be stifling laughter. Draco continued, “And you decided this was a good idea because you could bring them down from the inside; is that correct?” Potter nodded sulkily. “I thought it was a good plan,” he muttered. “It isn’t a bad plan, per se,” piped up Weasley thoughtfully. “Except maybe the part where you didn’t tell a single other person about it. Kingsley has been aware of you for weeks if not months now. Hermione has been worrying about bringing you to justice. The Aurors have been dragging in innocent people left, right and centre,” here Weasley waved at Draco. “And in all this time, you didn’t see fit to mention that they were after the wrong person?” “Aside from the part where it’s horribly dangerous and you could have got killed or maimed out there, and all we would have known was that you were going dark? Really, Harry?” Hermione’s eyes were big and shimmering with uncharacteristic tears, and Potter looked distressed for the first time. “Everyone else says ‘Harry no’ and Harry says ‘Harry yes’,” grumbled Weasley. “It’s the bloody war all over again.”

“Look, it started off with just a few dark rituals and spells, you know, pretty harmless stuff. I didn’t let them hurt any muggles or do much damage. But once they realised how strong I am, they wanted to make me their leader. They started talking about another dark lord. Every time I went to a meeting, more turned up. They mostly just want a taste of my power, a bit of extra magic to feel a boost. The more I hang back, the more they press. I reckon there’s about thirty of them now, and they’re from everywhere. There’s definitely some of the pollies Hermione’s been taking down. They’re getting funding too, expensive potions ingredients, fancy books. They’ve gotten hold of a bone they say is Riddle’s. They’re talking about really dark shit now…” Potter’s voice trailed off, and he looked down at his hands.

“Dark magic leaves marks, Potter,” murmured Draco. He walked around the table and stood before Potter. He gently touched the infamous lightning bolt scar that sliced across Potter’s face, cutting through his eyebrow and nearly reaching one AK-green eye. “You’ve already seen so much, absorbed so much. Aren’t your nightmares bad enough, hmm?” He cupped Potter’s face when the other man tried to turn away. Potter looked to be fighting back tears now. “The war is over,” murmured Draco. “Others can fight the battles that are left, however incompetently.” “It’s over?” asked Potter softly. “And what’s left for me? Dumbledore raised me to be a soldier, to sacrifice myself for the greater good. What do I do now, Draco? There’s no place for me in this new world, because there was never meant to be one. I wasn’t meant to survive.” Draco’s heart ached when a tear slipped over his hand on Potter’s face. He moved closer and let Potter nuzzle into his chest, hugging the other man tightly. Granger was wiping tears and Weasley moved to hold her again.

Exhaustion swept through Draco. He gave in to the soft pressure of the hug and sank back into Potter’s lap. Potter made a sound of contentment, causing Draco to think that really, all this could have been avoided if they had just bothered to ask each other out instead of poncing around for the last several years. There was a place for Potter, right here in Draco’s arms; they just had to sort out this other mess. Luckily, Draco had the gruesome twosome on his side. He looked over at Granger and Weasley to see them looking grim and thoughtful in a way that reminded Draco strongly of school, every time Potter – Harry – turned up covered in blood. After all, they were the experts at keeping Harry alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to go!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets by with a little help from his friends - as always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this descended into crack tbh! Thanks so much to everyone who commented, kudosed and followed. I really appreciate it! Next time I write, I will try to get the whole thing written before I start putting it on here!

Draco gingerly leaned against a wall in a dark, dingy dungeon, and swore he would kill Harry Potter himself. He and Ron Weasley were under cover, brought to a meeting of Dark Souls by Harry as new followers. As such they were relegated to the back of the room, which suited them fine. The other Souls had demanded Draco and Ron drop their glamours. Draco went first, and as his bright platinum hair came into view the Souls snickered and relaxed. Though no-one spoke names – they all remembered how Lord Voldemort had used his followers’ names against them – that Malfoy blonde was unmistakable. They forgot to demand Ron remove his glamour. Fucking amateurs, thought Draco sourly, though in many ways they were no worse than the Death Eaters. They were no better either. The same tired ideologies spouted forth: pure blood superiority, keeping wizarding kind pure, blah blah blah. Draco had seen nearly his entire pure blood family decimated by the Dark Lord’s own hand, so his patience was pretty thin. As always, people only saw what they wanted to see.

In the centre of the room, Harry stood surrounded by his followers. They were actually bowing over his hand and kissing his ring now. Draco knew for a fact that Harry had found the muggle ring in Notting Hill Market, and paid ten quid for it. It had been Draco’s idea that Potter turn up with a fancy ring, and this one even changed colours depending on the wearer’s mood. Potter was adept enough to make the ring glow in colours of his choosing, so it was extra impressive. Right now the ring was a pretty silver colour that left his followers looking back at Draco’s unglamoured eyes speculatively.

“Let us begin,” called the one who appeared to be the power behind Harry’s throne. Draco thought he recognised the voice of a popular politician, but there would be time enough for all that later. The assembled Souls were all dressed in simple black robes with deep hoods to hide their faces. No shining silver masks here. While the Souls chanted, a dirty bone was placed in the centre of a painted circle, and a dish of what appeared to be entrails. Draco’s lip curled in disgust as the meaty, rotting smell hit him. It was always entrails with these people and he, for one, never wanted to see a bloody intestine ever again. The chanting seemed to pull magical power out of the air and coalesce it in blinding beams of golden light, creating a halo of light around the group. Even Harry’s dark magic came through golden and strong, and Draco could not believe they thought this man was going to be a dark lord. Apparently tonight they were looking to raise the spirit of Lord Voldemort to give them guidance. Well, Draco didn’t need a secret dungeon and fancy spells to tell them that the Dark Lord had wanted nothing more than his own longevity, everything else be hanged.

As Draco had predicted, there would be no raising of spirits without a pure vessel. They needed a virgin, preferably an untouched child, and an act of true evil to make this whole messy business come through. Little chance of finding a virgin in London on short notice so a child it would have to be, and Draco hoped that the muggle tracking beacons on all their clothing enabled Kingsley to find them in this mysterious dungeon before any harm came to their sacrifice.

In the next moment, as if called into being by his thoughts, Draco heard Granger’s voice. She was crying out and struggling as she was dragged before the assemblage and thrown to the ground. Her hair was a bigger mess than usual, her clothes torn and bloody, and her bared stomach protruded, heavy with Harry’s future godchild. Neither Weasley nor Harry appeared to react in any way, other than to keep chanting. The ringleader came forward with an enormous silver knife and showed it to Harry, obviously gesturing for him to cut open Granger’s belly. Draco knew Harry would cut open his own entrails before he harmed Granger or her child, so he kept chanting, quietly shuffled to a better vantage point, and kept his wand ready. In his peripheral vision, he could see that Weasley was doing the same. Granger herself, despite looking so beaten up, was slowly balancing herself to stand. Harry came forward with the knife, and when he bent over her, she reached into his robes and grabbed her own wand which was stashed there. In a moment, she was up with her wand pointed outwards, back to back with Harry. Draco took the first shot, at the quick-thinking ringleader who was trying to escape. As he hit the ground, shots of coloured light, defensive and offensive spells, came from Granger and Weasley in seamless battle formation. Harry was doing something different. The light from their earlier spell was still glowing, and Harry seemed to grab it with his hands, twisting it into something else by sheer dint of power and thought. It slowly dragged the Souls closer together, a living rope of magic. Draco slipped out of its bonds, as did Weasley, but the others found themselves corralled and surrounded by the Golden Trio and Draco.

It was over.

Draco breathed a huge sigh of relief, even as he turned his wand to bringing down the wards that surrounded this place. Outside he could hear the shouts of Aurors, the pops of more and more Ministry personnel apparating into the area. In a few minutes, the full might of the Ministry would be here. Weasley was clutching Granger, alternately kissing her and trying to wipe off the glamour that left her looking so bruised. She was putting up with him pretty well, considering she was keeping Harry’s magical rope going. Truly the brightest witch of her age, she had already worked out how to control it with her wand. Harry meanwhile sidled up to Draco and nudged him gently. Draco gave him a look that suggested he was not forgiven, not by a long shot. Harry looked hangdog, and nudged again. With a very put upon sigh, Draco pulled him into a deep, thorough, lovely kiss that felt long overdue. Indeed very shortly Harry had Draco pushed up against the grimy wall of the dungeon, and Draco didn’t even think of how much dirt was getting in his hair – much – in favour of enjoying the delicious pressure of Harry’s leg between his thighs. Over Harry’s shoulder, Draco could hear Weasley weakly muttering, “Is this really the time?” while Granger snickered. They kept making out while the Aurors finally arrived and removed their charges, while Granger and Weasley gave perfunctory explanations, while Kingsley himself arrived. Harry was finally pulled away from his prize at that point, and gave the Minister a quick run-down of the events of the past few weeks, all the while keeping a firm arm around Draco’s waist. Kingsley’s eyes trailed over the pair but he didn’t say a word, and let them go blessedly quickly.

As they were finally leaving the dark, gloomy space, Draco gingerly picked up one of the cheap black cloaks. “Say what you will about the Dark Lord, at least he had more style than this,” he sniffed disapprovingly. Harry looked indignant. “I chose those!”


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco thinks of something to occupy Harry's time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more little slice-of-life chapter! I couldn't leave them quite alone yet! There's no plot here, just fluff. <3

Draco hummed softly as he moved around the cavernous kitchen at Grimmauld Place. He was overseeing the house elves work in creating a lovely summer lunch for the children, and had decided to decorate some cupcakes himself. He knew the children would destroy them in moments, but for now he admired his handiwork in the neat rows of pale green-iced cakes with shiny silver decorations.

Harry no longer lived here at Grimmauld Place, but lots of others did. The newly renamed Marauders House was a haven for lost boys and girls. The unwanted ones like Harry and Riddle and Snape, and the social outcasts like Merope Gaunt and Remus Lupin, all had a place to call home. Harry once said that the Blacks would have rolled in their graves to know the provenance of the children who lived in their ancestral home. Draco replied tartly that if they had wanted a say, they should have stayed alive longer. Now that grim old house was transformed into a sunny, noisy, and above all, loving home for children from compromised backgrounds. Some came from wizarding families who weren’t caring for them properly. Some, like Harry, had lived in a Muggle world that didn’t want them. Not all of them were of Hogwarts age yet, because as Ron said, no child should have to live in a bloody cupboard hoping for a magical rescue. Ron was still quietly angry that none of the adults in their world had seen fit to remove Harry from the Dursleys. He and Draco had joined together to find ways of discovering ill-treated children, and Harry had his hands full running the home. Most days saw him returning to the nearby townhouse that he shared with Draco totally exhausted but happy.

They had a group of nurses and carers who lived full-time in the house, and all their friends chipped in according to their tastes. Luna was a wonderful support to all the children, and took them on unintentionally wild excursions. Neville looked after the grounds and helped the children to grow magical and Muggle vegetables and flowers. Dean ran art classes and Seamus was always a willing playmate who only occasionally set things on fire. Blaise and Pansy weren’t much for hands-on playtime, but they were free with Sunday ice cream treats and trips to the ballet or Quidditch. They kept an especial eye on Slytherin children, who still faced much prejudice in the magical world. Hermione was slightly less welcome as she oversaw the younger children’s teaching program, but as she said, the standard of education for younger children was terrible in the wizarding world. Under her guidance, the kids coming out of Marauders House were better prepared for the world than most. Indeed, all the Weasley kids came there for lessons too, and Hermione and Draco were considering starting a primary school in a nearby building to accommodate everyone.

One of the unspoken rules of Marauders House was that it was never really empty, and no child was ever left alone for very long without someone checking in on them. There was usually one adult at least pottering in the communal areas, ready with a warm drink and a biscuit and a listening ear, and the house elves doted on the children.

Despite the whole thing being his idea, Draco liked to pretend that he wasn’t really a part of “Potter’s Folly”, as he liked to call it. Yet most days found him working beside his childhood nemesis, trying to help neglected children to have a happy childhood. It was rewarding in a way he could never have imagined when he was himself a spoilt, highly-strung child. The Little Marauders didn’t have much to call their own, and indeed most came with barely the clothes on their backs. But unlike the privileged boy Draco had been, they weren’t burdened with high expectations and pure-blood rhetoric, nor terrified of disappointing a stern father. Overall, Draco thought he and Harry were doing rather well with their motley crew of misfits.

An ungodly racket outside announced the arrival of the hungry hoards, with Harry and Luna herding them towards their lunch. The children had spent all morning in Windsor Park, looking for Nargles. They had doubtless traumatised every deer, swan and squirrel in the park, and the effort of keeping them magically hidden from Muggles and apparating the group there and back would have drained even Harry’s prodigious magic. Draco had planned a quiet afternoon of outdoor chores for them all, to give Harry a chance to recover in the little hammock by the singing lilies. He carefully hid the cupcakes away, and went to open the back door.


End file.
